Dance with Me
by ravenclawroyalty
Summary: He's blaming me. I can feel his eyes blaming me." Narcissa gets Lucius out of Azkaban after Voldemort falls the first time , and doesn't exactly get the response she wanted.


_A/N: I wrote this last year actually, but never got around to posting it. I was going through my old notebooks, found this and thought, "Hmmm this isn't too bad. I'll just clean it up a little (you know, put in punctuation) and post it." It takes a look at Narcissa and Lucius' relationship after Voldemort killed the Potters. I hope y'all like it._

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I am JKR because these characters are portrayed **_**exactly **_**as they are in the books…cough gag. Right.**

Dance with Me 

It's like a dance really, my relationship with him. Relationship isn't the right word; it's too gentle, too kind and finite. I know that those sappy, sentimental, vomit-inducing people will say that 'relationships' are always changing—a never ending, writhing circle of love and devotion. But the word also suggests that the people in the relationship share a mutual feeling toward each other that binds them.

There is nothing mutual between Lucius and I. No, not even hatred or indifference. We are bound together by something that has nothing to do with each other. Our families and our master said it should be so, and so it came to be. Our feelings—our connection—had nothing to do with our marriage.

He is indifferent where I am compassionate; he is loving where I am distant; he is cruel where I am ashamed. This is our dance. We tiptoe around each other, painfully aware of the other's emotions. And nowhere do our steps match. We are careful, but in our caution we are breaking each other. And we can't face each other long enough to pick up the pieces.

I force myself out of my musings and pick up our two-way mirror. I bite my lip hesitantly before I say his name.

"Lucius, are you there?"

The mirror is blank for a few moments, save for my fearful eyes. Finally my call is answered.

"Hello, Narcissa."

I am surprised and perturbed by how haggard he has become since I saw him last. Of, course, the Dark Lord and the Potter's were still alive when Lucius and I parted. I take in his sunken eyes—too bright and fidgety--, lank hair and hollow cheeks.

"The dementors must be really getting you." I say. I know I sound cruel, but I'm trying to cover the concern that—if he heard it—he would scoff at.

"Where are you?" he asks, ignoring my statement.

"Home."

A look flickers across his face—relief? —but it's gone before I can register it.

"How did you manage that?" His voice is like a smile, though he keeps his expression stony.

I allow a wry smile to grace my lips, "You forget I have a baby to take care of. They gave me an early trial."

"How is Draco?"

"Asleep. He sleeps a lot."

"Can I see him?"

I walk down the hall to Draco's room. He lies serene and still in his crib, by far the most beautiful thing to grace the Earth. I shine the mirror above his head so Lucius can see him. After a few moments I flick the mirror back to me and go back to my room.

"That's my darling baby boy." I say in a lame attempt to impersonate Molly Weasly.

"_Our_ darling baby boy." Lucius corrects me. Our eyes meet. I feel the rhythm of our dance change.

"What did you tell the jury?" he asks after a few moments of silence.

I open the huge bay window and sit on the window seat. "I was as honest as I dared."

"What did you tell them?" his voice is sharp.

I look out over the grounds of Malfoy Manor. I don't want to speak, but his eyes are burning me.

"I told them that I joined the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord of my own free will." I pause.

"And they let you go?" Lucius is shocked.

I give him a faint smile before averting my eyes.

"I also told them that I did it to keep my husband and child alive." I can't read his expression, but I can feel us dancing closer. "It was a trial of suckers. All I had to do was cry and pretend to be weak like a dainty little woman should. I spouted some nonsense about doing anything for you and Draco, and how I was too stupid to realize _you_ were under the imperious curse. They lapped it up like kittens." Even as the words leave my mouth I can feel us spinning away from each other faster and faster.

"So you'll spout any bull to save your own ass?" He sounds angry.

"The only bull was the part about you being under the imperious curse!" I retort sharper than I intended. We stare at each other for a moment. It's the closest I've even come to saying I love him. I never told him before because our feelings are never mutual.

"And the hysterical crying," I add, breaking the spell, "I had to make it convincing." My voice is hoarse and raw in my throat. Lucius is still looking at me strangely. "I just had to tell you about the imperious curse so your story lines up with mine." I finish lamely.

We are silent. The dance is still solo and tentative, but more intimate. We are close but we won't touch. The steps don't correspond enough to dance together.

"Thank you," he says finally, "My trial should be this week. I'll mirror you when I get the verdict."

The mirror is suddenly blank save for my face. I kiss the empty glass gently before laying it on an end table. There is nothing more to do but wait.

xoxoxox

He doesn't mirror me. I'm about to put Draco to bed when I hear the front door open. Fear grips me. He failed and they're coming for me. I scoop Draco into my arms and run to the back of the house. I'm halfway down the old servants' stairwell when I hear his voice.

"Narcissa? Where are you?" He sounds tired.

I turn around and walk back up the stairs as dignified as I can manage. He stands in the hallway giving me a bemused smile. I can't help the blush that creeps into my cheeks.

"What are you doing, Narcissa?" his patronizing tone makes me lift my chin in defiance.

"You didn't mirror me, so I thought it was someone else. I thought you'd given me away."

He doesn't know how to react to that statement so he holds his arms out for Draco. I hand him the baby. His hair falls into his eyes as he leans over to place a kiss on his cheek. The gesture is so sweet and beautiful that I feel tears prick my eyes. Lucius never kisses me. He never even touches me. During social events—where we're expected to act like a married couple—he might give me a wooden kiss on the cheek or place a stiff hand on the small of my back. Other than that, we barely even look at each other. Draco was a complete accident.

He hands the baby back to me. Without meeting my eyes, he asks, "Where's Charlotte?"

Charlotte was Draco's old nurse who took care of him while Lucius and I did things for the Dark Lord.

"I let her go," I say taking Draco back to his room and laying him in his crib.

"Why?"

I go over to the large glass doors that lead to the balcony. We are distant yet totally aware of the other.

"She was old. She wanted to see her children and grandchildren. We won't need her with me staying home now. She doesn't need the money, and she didn't want to be here. There was no reason to keep her."

"Oh."

His response hangs in the air like a neon sign, flashy and inadequate when paired with my logical rant. The dance is slowing. We are both so tired.

"So, I take it your trial went well," I say, turning away from the glass to look at him.

"Yes, they accepted the imperious nonsense faster than I expected. I guess they'll believe what they want instead of looking at evidence."

"Lucky for you," I say.

"Yes, I suppose."

We are silent for a long moment.

"Well, I guess I'll go make dinner." I say with false cheer masking my burning eyes. I leave and head downstairs. I vaguely make a note to hire a cook.

I blink back my emotions as I put pots of sauce and spaghetti on the stove. With a flick of my wand, I heat up the burners. Stupid, silly, weak emotions. It's silly to be so sad; so self pitying. But I wish for so many silly things.

No kiss, no welcoming embrace, no word of gratitude for getting him out of prison. Is it too much to ask for a smile? Suddenly my self-pity turns red. I do so much for him and how does he repay me? With nothing. Resentment boils in me. My dance is angry. I am stomping and spinning as fast as I can while he steps warily around me. I am a whirlwind of movement against of his calculated tap. I stir the sauce furiously, then slam the spoon messily on the counter.

He's standing in the doorway. Our eyes meet and instantly the dance freezes. I turn my back to the stove wordlessly, my anger wilting beneath his arid gaze.

"Bellatrix wasn't happy to see me go," He says quietly.

"What do you mean?" I say snappishly as I begin to set two places at the dining table.

"She screamed that we were traitors who were never loyal to the Dark Lord, and we would pay for what we'd done."

"How are we traitors?" I face him.

"By getting out, " he sounds thoughtful and disappointed, "I guess you can only be loyal by staying in Azkaban."

An unexplainable hurt stabs my heart. He's blaming me. I can feel his eyes blaming me.

"What was I supposed to do?" I demand. I'm not dancing anymore. The music is forgotten. "Was I supposed to be 'loyal' and leave my baby an orphan? What is worth more: loyalty or love? God, Lucius, was I supposed to let us both rot in jail?" my voice is rising, "Is that what you wanted? To be loyal—a true Death Eater—in _Azkaban_? Tell me, Lucius, what should I have done?"

I pause for breath. He's looking at me like he's never seen me before.

"We were true Death Eaters. We should have stayed by him even in death." He says softly, "Even in Azkaban."

"If that's what you want," I say, softer now, defeated and calm, "I'll go back and tell them I lied. I'll do it for you. If I've done wrong by you, I'll go back and change it. I'm sorry I lied. I just—I just thought you wouldn't want to be in prison," tears are leaking out my eyes, "I thought you'd want to see Draco grow up." I curse myself for being so weak and sentimental in front of him. But something nags at my mind. I brush my foolish tears away and look up at him. "Why," I ask tentatively, "Did you go along with my story if you thought it was treason?"

I can see replies flashing in front of his eyes as he searches for the right choice. He looks at me and suddenly I notice that he has stopped dancing too. He is crossing the stage with careful, deliberate strides. He is facing me and taking my hands, preparing to dance with me. I almost gasp when I realize Lucius has crossed the kitchen to close the space between us and cup my cheek shyly in his hand.

"I went along," he murmurs, "Because I was afraid that if I was stuck with the dementors for the rest of my life, I would forget you."

The air is tender and for moment we hear the same music. I can feel his breath on my cheeks and neck. Then the air is shaken by the cries of a baby.

Lucius pulls away from me. He leaves hurriedly to check on Draco. I am a statue for a few seconds. Resignedly, I turn back to the stove and see that the sauce is burning.

xoxoxox

Dinner is done and Draco is asleep. I had never sat through a more silent and furtive meal. Lucius is in the library, probably trying to forget our brief moment of shy honesty. But I cannot. I am so tired of dancing. It is time to end it once and for all. I have so much to gain and nothing to lose but a pair of dancing shoes.

I enter the library quietly. Lucius ignores me. He pretends to be engrossed in his book, but I notice how his eyes look through the pages instead of at the words.

Without acknowledging his presence, I go over to the elegant, antique record player that had been a wedding present from my parents. I flick my wand at it and a slow, lovely melody drifts from it. I stand in front of him and hold out my hands.

"Dance with me?"

I am vulnerable and expectant. He can't refuse.

He puts his book aside and takes my hands. We move slowly in time to the music. This dance has no name. It doesn't need one.

He leans down and kisses me. Sweet kisses that match the rhythm of our steps until we're too preoccupied to dance anymore.

Maybe relationship is a word that can be applied to Lucius and I. After all; it seems we have some mutual feelings. But I was wrong about having to end the dancing. Although our literal dance in the library did end—quite agreeably, I might add—, our figurative dance is still playing. But now I know that our steps don't have to correspond; they can weave together into something beautiful.

A/N: I like this story. I always wondered how the Malfoys would act around someone who they actually cared about instead of an enemy or superior. Anyway, drop me a review if you have something constructiveto say or if you liked it.


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